


Velocity

by Mercury Starlight (WoolandWater)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Ok maybe moderate angst, Only one explicit chapter, Other, Past Suicidal Behavior, Podfic Welcome, Sorry Not Sorry, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Turns out I'm physically incapable of not writing angst, absolutely not dubcon or noncon, and so does Aziraphale, another fic writer gets her first incoherent keysmash comment, anyway I like it, because every time Aziraphale calls Crowley My Dear, hesitant anxious consent, is there a term for that?, it gets better though, it's right in the middle, mixes tv/novel verse, ok by the time I finished the chapter it became significantly more than slight praise kink, one nonconsentual kiss tho, past severe depression, quite a bit, rehabilitated song trigger, slight praise kink?, slowish burn, song trigger, soothing/comforting as sexy talk, the rest is sheer unapologetic shmoop tbh, yet more angst I'm so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-23 23:08:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19160884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WoolandWater/pseuds/Mercury%20Starlight
Summary: In which we discover exactly why Crowley hated the 14th century, Crowley holds back, Aziraphale strides forward, and these two idiots finally just kiss, already.(This fic fills in the night between the Last Day and the New Beginning. Aziraphale goes home with Crowley. Love & sexiness ensue. Chapter 3 is the only explicit chapter.)





	1. False Starts

**Author's Note:**

> The footnotes throughout the story have working links now! Aaaayyy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Crowley learns the hard way that some things need a bit of time to gain momentum before they can truly begin hurtling toward their proper destination.
> 
> (Chapter Rating: Teen)

#### Vienna, 1204

It was a perfectly lovely brunch.

Aziraphale chose the place, a little eatery by the water, known for its absolutely heavenly strudels. The day was like something out of a fairy tale. The sweet, spring air carried a violin's tune along the glorious breezes it blew through the pink magnolias. But the setting didn't really matter to Crowley. He sat across the table from the angel, sipping his wine, watching with delight as Aziraphale wolfed down his first course, a rich cream soup of some kind. The angel dabbed at his mouth with a napkin and shot Crowley a knowing smile.

"It'll be schnitzel next. Sure I can't tempt you?"

"Oh, no, I'm fine. Thanks." Crowley smiled back.

 _I love this._ The demon thought. _I love every bit of him._

Oh.

He hadn't meant to think that. He hadn't meant to think any part of that. But now that he had, he discovered he very much meant it. He _did_ love every bit of Aziraphale. Every last, celestial piece of him. He was, he realized quite suddenly, very much _in love with him_ , in fact.

Oh bugger all, that was a _terrible_ thing to realize! Why did he have to go and realize something like that and spoil a perfectly lovely brunch? His face must have betrayed his consternation because Aziraphale shot him a quizzical look.

"Something on your mind, demon?"

"Ah…no! Nope! Nothing! Nothing whatsoever. I was miles away, really, just sort-of…you know, I hate to cut this short but I've just remembered I've got a…thing. To get to. Right now."

"Oh! Well I suppose I shouldn't say I'm sorry to hear it, but er…perhaps next week, then?"

"Er, yeah! Yeah, that's…that's great, I'll be in touch."

The demon leapt to his feet and, in a sudden burst of complete un-coolness, ran away very fast. Aziraphale watched him leave, puzzled and (though he was rather cross at himself for it) quite disappointed. Then his second course arrived and he forced his attention to more pleasurable matters. By the third course, he'd managed to convince himself that the demon's absence was probably for the best, anyway. He didn't believe himself in the slightest, but he convinced himself nonetheless.

* * *

Crowley stalked through back alleyways, with no destination in-particular. He couldn't quite keep still. This turn of events was…very bad. As it turned out, he had been in love with the angel for several centuries, and was only just now aware of it. But now that he was aware, he was certain that it was true. He'd never been more certain of anything in…quite literally ever. He was in love, and he knew it, and he _hated_ it.

Lust was one thing. A true Sin, one of the Seven. Lust was something to aspire to. Lust had driven him to will genitalia onto his sexless form and indulge in enough all-too-human sexual endeavors that after a while, he'd simply left it on for convenience's sake.

But love? One of the _worst_ four letter words. Not only flowery and soppy and altogether _soft_ , but solidly within the purview of The Other Side. Christ was Love. God was Love. Loving one's fellow man was a primary factor in humans' entry into Heaven. Love was to be avoided at all costs.

And Crowley was in fucking _love_. With a fucking _angel_. With _that fucking angel in-particular_.

He wasn't quite sure how to process any of that, nor the fact that he'd neglected to notice for so long. He eventually decided that, perhaps, the best course of action was to let the knowledge simmer for a few decades and see what he could come up with in the meantime.

* * *

#### Naples, 1273 

Crowley slithered into town with a purpose. His path was clear, he needed only to walk it.

For half the century, hadn't known what to do with himself. He tried to throw himself into his work, sprinkling plague into various locales, sowing discord in political structures, unleashing rumors of Mongol hoards or Crusaders on unsuspecting populations and stoking their fears. He tried to shake off the feeling, get over it the way the humans often did, sleeping around, men, women, whatever.1

But his heart simply wasn't in any of it. He couldn't think of _anything_ but Aziraphale's smile, his cautious eyes, the way he blushed when he was particularly upset, the warm, pleasant comfort of his company. He had to make it stop somehow, and he could think of only one real solution. He would simply force the issue. He would confront the angel, and they would agree that in fact they were very much in love, as was surely obvious to both of them, and then it would be over with, and things could go back to normal.

He rounded a corner, trying to decide how, exactly, to contact the angel, and very nearly ran right into him.

"Oh!" Aziraphale said, quite startled and, Crowley noted, rather pleased, "Crowley! Whatever are you doing here?"

"Oh, er. You know, bit of um…priest corrupting. You?"

"Fancy that! I've been having some rather rousing theological debates with the Dominicans, up at the _studium generale_. I'm keeping an eye on a monk there, Father Aquinas. There are some rumblings upstairs that he's a shoe-in for sainthood, you see. I'm on a field study. What a stroke of luck, I just popped out for a spot of lunch. Care to join me?"

"Absolutely! Lead on."

After a nice meal, a rousing argument, and a serene walk down a shady lane to a secluded olive grove, the stage was set. This was perfect. Foolproof. He'd have this sorted in no time.

"Let me ask you something, angel. Do you ever wonder how it is we keep finding each other like this?"

Aziraphale laughed, "To be entirely honest, my dear, I'd always assumed you were looking to try and tempt me into Falling. Not that I've ever once been tempted, mind."

Crowley shook his head, "No look, I'm being very serious now. How long has it been, 5000 years? Traveling the globe, working our separate agendas. Arrangements aside," (and here, he ignored Aziraphale's blush and withering look), "we've no reason whatsoever to be in the same place at the same time. And yet no matter where we go, there we are. Don't you find it all a bit…convenient?"

"On the contrary, my dear fellow, I often find it quite inconvenient indeed. I've said many times before, you can vex me like no one in all the realms."

Aziraphale was grinning at him, an impish grin that betrayed the underlying, unspoken meaning. _I quite like it, to be honest._ That grin encouraged Crowley to continue.

"See, I've been thinking. And I'm starting to wonder if we're…meant to find each other like this. That perhaps all along, the plan's been for us to…be together."

Aziraphale scoffed, "My dear demon, whatever do you mean?"

He still grinned that maddening, irresistible grin, and Crowley couldn't stand another moment of it. Without another thought, he closed the gap between them and kissed the angel deeply, eagerly, a bit of desperation at the edges. His fingers wound through golden curls, cupped his face, held his neck. Inch after inch of Aziraphale's glorious, angelic body, warm and yielding under his fingertips.

Aziraphale froze for a few seconds, then returned the kiss in hesitant, unpracticed motions for a few seconds more. He reached for the demon's waist for just a moment, before pulling away quite suddenly and putting a good deal of distance between them. He stared at Crowley in shocked disbelief, bordering on betrayal. He looked as though he was going to cry. Crowley wasn't deterred, but when he spoke, his tone was filled with the same desperation as the kiss.

"Oh, don't give me that look! You must have seen it by now! You feel it too, I know it! You can feel…" he gestured helplessly at the empty air between the two of them, " _Thisss!_ The way we talk, the favors we do for one-another, _Our Arrangement_! I've seen the looks you give me, the little smiles, the fleeting glances when you think I'm not looking. And I'm not always the one chasing after you, you know, you've done plenty of chasing yourself. You-"

Aziraphale didn't say a word, but his actions said all they needed to. Crowley poured his heart out and, quite suddenly, Aziraphale wasn't there anymore. One moment he was standing stock still, watching Crowley as though he were growing several new and horrifying heads, and the next he was simply…gone. Vanished. Crowley couldn't sense him anywhere nearby - he must have gone somewhere quite far, indeed. Perhaps the other side of the world. Perhaps the Celestial Realm. Perhaps he was tattling to his superiors at this very moment, confessing every indiscretion, informing them of every meeting they had ever had.

"…FUCK!"

Crowley leaned against a tree and took several shaky breaths. Uncountable emotions flooded into him, overriding the anxiety and anticipation and (devil-forbid) _hope_ which drove him to this foolish, clumsy, _delusional_ attempt at romance, and each new feeling was its own version of unpleasant. He clapped a quivering hand over his mouth before an honest-to-Satan sob escaped his lips. His eyes brimmed with tears. His chest constricted. His stomach heaved. His heart, quite thoroughly, broke. This was a rejection unlike anything he'd experienced before. This was a rejection that rivaled The Fall. In that moment, he felt certain he would never see Aziraphale again, and that it would be his fault, and the knowledge hurt more than anything he had ever known. He stormed back out of town in a foul mood2, and went to find some slimy hole to sulk in.

The 14th century was not a pleasant one for Crowley. He drifted through it, quite listless and depressed, and the dour, grim setting of his surroundings certainly didn't help matters. He never once ran into the angel, and he didn't have the heart to look for him. The 15th wasn't much better. Throughout that one he looked everywhere, but simply couldn't find him, no matter how hard he tried.

When they did finally cross paths again, Madrid 1511, Aziraphale tried to behave as though the incident had never happened - but he also sat just a bit further away from Crowley at dinner. He smiled less, bickered more, pointed out the obvious conflict in their respective sides more than ever. Crowley got the hint. He knew it was a lost cause, and he tried his best to join Aziraphale in his obvious denial. They would be associates, and if he could manage it, they might even be friends, but nothing more. It was several centuries before he would even dare think of it again.

* * *

1\. He even tried on a vagina for a decade or so and discovered he rather liked the feeling and overall aesthetic, but much less so the lack of social capital and constant, _constant_ unwanted attention, and eventually decided he'd chosen a better fit the first time around. [Back]

2\. Before he left town, he made sure to throw one hell of a test of faith at the monk the angel had mentioned. It didn't make him feel any better, but it was still nice to convince a devoted man to question literally everything he had ever known mere months before his death. [Back]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8/17/19: A clarification, not because anyone has said anything, but just because it's been bothering me lately: I posted this first chapter just after finishing the series, like literally within 3 days, long before the discussions about series!Crowley's varied gender presentation started happening. The first footnote in this fic was already a bit awkwardly put, because it seems to imply that vaginas are synonymous with women, which isn't something I believe to be true. I intended it to express that, in 13th century Europe, they certainly would have been considered synonymous, and anyone with a vagina would be treated like a woman. After said gender presentation discussions, the footnote feels a bit incongruous with my, and the general fandom's, current understanding of Crowley's overall characterization. I don't intend to change it, but I just felt the need to point all of that out. 
> 
> Carry on. :)


	2. Sure Footing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Aziraphale isn’t quite sure where to begin once he’s decided to stop lying to himself, and Crowley can’t help but be overly-cautious and over-eager all at once.
> 
> (Chapter Rating: Teen)

#### Bus to ~~Oxford~~ London, The Last Day (Averted)

The 20th century began promisingly enough. After all that business with the Blitz, Crowley felt sure he was finally getting somewhere. But then came the heist, and the holy water, and those seven awful words.

_You go too fast for me, Crowley._

The phrase echoed in his head from that moment forward. He knew what it meant, what it implied. He knew it was true, in every sense. It terrified him. It made the memory of Naples loom over his thoughts, the memory of coming on far, far too strong, much too quickly, and scaring the angel away for two whole centuries. Of nearly ruining the ~~only real~~ best relationship he had ever had, forever, because he couldn't exercise just a bit of self-control. It made him hesitate. Crowley _hated_ hesitating. But he hated distance from Aziraphale more. More than anything in all the Cosmos. He couldn't allow anything to threaten Their Arrangement, not even himself. So he hesitated, backed off yet again. They were friends. Good friends, surely. Best friends, if he allowed himself to dream. But that was all they could be. Perhaps it was all they could ever be. And if that was true, it was still worth the effort. It would still have to be enough.

As years went by, their bond deepened, and as the end of the century neared, they found themselves much closer than ever before. Their eyes lingered on each other far more often. Their hands brushed at dinner and lingered there, too. Aziraphale phoned Crowley just as often as Crowley phoned him, and they spent quite a bit of time together now. Crowley couldn't bear to lose all they had built together. But every meeting, every flirtation, every late night, drunken philosophy debate, every tiny, thoughtful gesture was a bit more torture for the lovestruck demon. He often wondered whether Aziraphale did, in fact, feel the same way. He thought he probably did, thought he had enough evidence to make a solid case, but he also knew that in a very real sense, it didn't actually matter. What mattered was how much the angel was willing to admit to himself, which seemed a much more daunting hurdle to overcome.

_You go too fast for me, Crowley._

The phrase bounced around his memory when The Adversary was born. It hovered in his mind while, for eleven years, they worked together to sway the wrong boy to their respective sides. It _screamed_ at him when, after taking a desperate gamble in the face of certain defeat and _outright begging_ the angel to run away with him, he was so thoroughly rejected that he feared it was Naples all over again. It tore away at whatever passed for his soul these days, as he watched his best friend's life's work turn to ash and cinder around him. As he feared it was too late to ever get the chance to do it right. Even now, as they boarded a bus for home, world saved, Armageddon avoided, it swirled at the back of his consciousness, round and round.

_You go too fast for me, Crowley._

Which is why Crowley was so incredibly shocked when, as they rode sat side by side, Aziraphale's fingers hesitantly found his own of their own accord. After a moment, the angel's hand slid into his with a bit more certainty, and Crowley looked up to see a bright, angelic smile.

"You know, my dear," Aziraphale said, quietly, "I believe I'll take you up on your offer after all. You're right that I haven't got anywhere else to go. And…I've been thinking about it quite a lot recently…even before this whole messy business, and…and to be quite honest, I've decided I…I'd quite like to…spend…the night. With you. ...If you'll have me?"

Crowley wasn't sure he'd ever seen that particular expression on Aziraphale's face before, certainly not so plainly, and he was shocked to recognize it, couched as it was in his usual timid nerves.

"I…I'd like that," Crowley's voice wavered, unused to feeling in any way bashful, "Very much." He squeezed Aziraphale's hand, and the angel squeezed back. He didn't dare do anything further ( _you go too fast for me, Crowley_ ) but he couldn't look away from those eyes, filled with palpable desire.

So with Crowley temporarily paralyzed, Aziraphale took the initiative. Nothing extravagant, he simply sighed gently and relaxed into Crowley's side, but that tiny gesture and the angel's hand in his was just about everything Crowley had ever dreamed possible. Aziraphale rested his head on the demon's shoulder, and Crowley thought he might cry, or sing, or perhaps explode. Instead, he swapped hands, wrapped his now free arm around Aziraphale's shoulders, and nuzzled his cheek into the angel's hair. He ventured a small, cautious forehead kiss, and Aziraphale only sighed and squeezed his hand again in response. Crowley kissed it again, held his lips there, pensive, possessive. He watched their reflection in the darkened bus window, watched Aziraphale close his eyes in peaceful contentment.

 _I love you so much._ Crowley thought. _I don't know if I can stand it._

"Our side," Aziraphale muttered, as though he were trying on the phrase and thought he might like it.

"Our side, angel," Crowley agreed, a loving, gentle whisper unbecoming a demon in every way.

* * *

When they first got through the door, Crowley thought for sure Aziraphale would change his mind. The angel was nothing but nerves, all fidgety energy and darting eyes. He dropped his coat twice while attempting to hang it on the rack. But as they settled into the living room with a bottle of brandy, he seemed to calm down a bit. Hanging out and getting smashed at Crowley's place was, at least, familiar territory. Crowley sat on the opposite end of the sofa, and as the night progressed, they slowly inched closer, each seemingly hesitant to make any sudden moves. They'd nearly met in the middle by the time they finished off the bottle.

"I was so surprised she was American," Aziraphale was saying, "And by way of Spain even! Agnes' descendants certainly did travel quite a long way...from…"

He trailed off. Crowley was staring at him intently. He'd removed his glasses, his slitted pupils dilated, his longing gaze drunkenly unfocused, his mouth nearing a frown. Aziraphale looked back, his own somewhat unfocused gaze filled with concern.

"Have I said something? Done something wrong? You look so sad."

Crowley shook his head slowly, his arm snaking along the back of the sofa, trailing down to Aziraphale's shoulder.

"No, not sssad," he murmured, the alcohol coaxing the hiss into his voice, " _Terrified_ maybe, but never sssad."

Aziraphale let out a shocked, breathy laugh, "Whatever in the _world_ could _I_ do to terrify _you_?" The question's tone was loving and kind, and it only served to deepen Crowley's expression.

"Trouble isss…I want to kisss you so very, very badly," he confessed, a hushed whisper, his thumb tracing along the angel's collar, "And I don't know how I could posssibly endure another moment's exisstence if you didn't want me to."

Aziraphale swallowed hard and his own expression gained a bit of fear, but he smiled bravely nonetheless, "My dear, if you don't kiss me right this second, I shall be terribly offended."

Crowley did as he was told. He was still hesitant, tentative, centuries of holding back ( _you go too fast for me, Crowley_ ) still gripping him. Aziraphale made a tiny noise, a soft sort of whimper, and closed his eyes. He put a hand to Crowley's cheek and kissed back, in earnest, without a trace of hesitation. All at once, Crowley leaned into him, took him into his arms, and a passion that had been simmering for a thousand years broke free. The kiss lasted a long, long time, and when they finally broke contact, the shuddering half-sigh, half-moan that escaped Aziraphale only spurred Crowley on. He kissed him again, with wild abandon, hands roving, mouth drifting to his cheek, his neck, the hollow behind his ear. His hands drifted toward the angel's waistband and Aziraphale gasped and froze.

"Wait, wait, _stop_!"

Crowley jumped back, very nearly off the far end of the sofa, in his rush to comply. He immediately sobered up a bit, afraid he'd drunkenly crossed a boundary he hadn't noticed.

"What? What's the matter?"

_You go too fast for me, Crowley._

"Nothing, nothing, only I…I just," Aziraphale gasped some more shuddering breaths and Crowley worried he'd call the whole thing off right there, "I need a moment, I…" He gave a helpless shrug, eyes pleading, "I've never _done this_ before…"

Crowley heaved a sigh of relief and gave him a smile overflowing with love and understanding as he oozed back onto the sofa beside him. This was much more easily managed - he'd tempted countless virgin humans into lustful sin, after all. It was all in the way he looked at things, really. Preventing himself from spilling a millenia's worth of feelings all over Aziraphale was one thing; careful, deliberate seduction was quite another.

"Tell you what, angel," he purred, reassuring but with a hint of dominance, "Let's continue this in the bedroom, yeah? Bed's much more comfortable than a sofa. And don't let the change of scenery worry you. I'll make sure we take it a bit slower, all right?"

Aziraphale nodded with a weak smile. Crowley slinked to his feet, traced a hand down the angel's cheek, along his arm, down to his hand. He took it, gave it a squeeze, and Aziraphale came to his feet easily enough. The demon gave his hand another squeeze, turned, and led him down the hallway, confident as anything.


	3. Keeping Pace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein the pair have a long-overdue heart-to-heart, Crowley (to his great relief) gets to exercise his seduction skills, and Aziraphale (to his great delight) dives headlong into several new experiences at once.
> 
> (Rated Explicit)

They sat together on the bed, a bit of distance growing between them again. Crowley could feel the moment slipping away, and it took everything he had not to clutch for it desperately. Instead he laced his fingers with Aziraphale's and brought his hand to his lips. Aziraphale blushed when he kissed it, and the sight was so endearing he simply held it to his lips for a moment to take it in. When he lowered his hand, he didn't let go. He brushed the other hand across Aziraphale's cheek, but made no other moves. He watched the angel like he was the most fascinating creature in the Universe. He was. Aziraphale closed his eyes at Crowley's touch, and when he opened them, there was more than a bit of sadness behind them. Crowley gave him a questioning look. Aziraphale gave an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry…about Naples."

Crowley blinked, stunned into silence as his entire seduction plan crumbled to dust in only four words. It was just about the last thing he'd expected to hear. He honestly thought perhaps the angel had forgotten years ago, but of course such a thing wouldn't be easily forgotten, would it? No, it made sense he was thinking of it now, given the circumstances. But Crowley hadn't seriously considered actually having this conversation, no matter how many times he'd had it with the Aziraphale in his head1, and he wasn't quite sure where it would actually go. He hoped it wouldn't go so far as to ruin the mood entirely. Aziraphale's smile gained a bit of pity, and that certainly didn't help matters.

"I'm sure my little vanishing act must have hurt you quite badly. I knew it even then."

"Naaah," Crowley shrugged nonchalantly, but his face wasn't quite able to hide the ghost of those two centuries of pain, and of the anxious caution that dominated the centuries after. Aziraphale traced the side of his hand with his thumb as he spoke.

"It's only…I wasn't prepared for something like that. I wasn't _ready_. It was all so sudden, and I really didn't see it coming at all. I didn't know how to react and I just sort-of…panicked?"

Crowley nodded slowly, deliberating on his response. He'd been thrown completely off his stride, but perhaps this wasn't a bad conversation to have beforehand. Clear the air, get on the same page, various other cliches. He eventually gave his own apologetic half-smile.

"I understood, eventually. I'm sorry I forced that sort of reaction from you. It wasn't a very fair thing to do, was it? As soon as I did it, I knew it was the wrong move. Not sure what made me think you'd be receptive in the first place, really. I wasn't thinking too clearly at the time. I only knew…I only knew that I loved you. I didn't know what else to do."

He paused, waiting for some sort of reaction, but Aziraphale only smiled at him. This felt like an opportunity to turn things back to the matter at hand. He swallowed hard and tried his damnedest to let his face show his genuine sincerity. "…I _do_ love you, you know. Very much."

Aziraphale laughed, and for a moment Crowley was rather offended. But then he caught the affection in the angel's eyes and bit back the ire he had bubbling behind his teeth.

"Bit of an understatement, wouldn't you say?" Aziraphale said, and Crowley blinked again, bewildered. He'd never felt less in control of one of their conversations. Aziraphale took his other hand and looked deep into his eyes.

"Crowley…I'm sure it's a bit obvious, but I ran because I was frightened. Of you, certainly, and of divine punishment of course, but mostly…of myself. That moment…it was the most amazing feeling I'd ever known, and I wanted nothing more than to feel it forever. And that was terribly frightening for me, because an angel isn't _meant_ to feel such things. Oh we were meant to love, of course, love for all living creatures on Earth, love for the Almighty, love for all the Cosmos. But not… _that_ sort of love. Not for anyone or anything, but definitely not for a demon. We're rather supposed to be…above such things."

Crowley snorted derisively on instinct, and Aziraphale gave him a _look_. Crowley attempted a meek expression and landed on suppressed amusement.

"Sorry, go on."

"Hmph… _Anyway_ …at the time, I thought what I was feeling might be Falling. That this," he squeezed Crowley's hands, "might be the temptation to finally tip the scales. At the time, I couldn't understand that I wasn't Falling from Grace, only falling deeply, madly, _eternally_ in love with _you_."

Aziraphale let that confession breathe a moment before continuing, Crowley still utterly unable to navigate this conversational whiplash.

"I don't think I understood the difference, really, not then. And I wasn't ready to allow myself to feel any of it, so I took the coward's way out…I ran. It took me far too long to recognize it, but…I've been running for quite a long time, now. From a lot of things. I couldn't accept that my supposed 'superiors' didn't actually have all the answers. I couldn't admit to myself just how much you meant to me - how much you _mean_ to me. …I'm sorry I've been such an idiot."

Crowley just stared, speechless, shook his head slightly. Aziraphale kissed him then, softly but with an undercurrent Crowley was shocked to recognize as fervent lust. After a time, they pulled apart and rested foreheads, Aziraphale's breath hot on Crowley's cheek.

"But that's all over and done with now," the angel's voice was a low, husky whisper the likes of which Crowley had never heard from him before, "They can't hold that sort of sway over me anymore, not after everything I've seen, everything we've done. I know who I am, and I'm ready now, for whatever that means. I love you, Crowley. And I want to Know you."

Crowley heard the capitalization, the biblical double-entendre, and it sent a bevy of warmth and chills humming through him all at once. He kissed Aziraphale hard, and try as he might to keep it slow, before long he found himself lying atop the prone angel, pressing him into the mattress, pulling at his clothing. Aziraphale didn't seem to mind, kissing back with a furious passion. Crowley fumbled with his t-shirt a moment, until Aziraphale surprised him by helping him pull it off. He began unbuttoning the angel's waistcoat even as Aziraphale was unbuttoning his shirt and tossing his tie aside. They lay together, half-dressed, well aware that if they wanted they could simply Be Naked at any time, and yet understanding that this slow unveiling of each-other's bodies was very much a part of the fun.

They kissed long and languid, hands cautiously roving, Crowley growing increasingly bold. Now that matters had turned to something he could inherently understand, he was starting to recover bits of his original plan. Eventually however, once again, Crowley slid his hand toward the angel's waistband, and Aziraphale stiffened and made an anxious, disgruntled noise, and once again, Crowley pulled back, heart sinking.

_You go too fast for me, Crowley._

He closed his eyes a moment, took a breath. No. He wouldn't let a memory half a century old crowd out everything Aziraphale had just said and done of his own free will in the last few minutes. He opened his eyes again and put on his most reassuring, confident smile. He put a gentle hand to Aziraphale's cheek, made sure their eyes met.

"Look at me, angel. It's all right, I promise. There's nothing at all to worry about. You're safe with me. I've got you."

Aziraphale seemed to breathe a bit easier at this, but he still frowned a little. Crowley watched him with loving concern, a thought occurring that he wished had occurred earlier. He'd gotten so caught up, there was something important he'd neglected to make clear.

"We can stop anytime you like, you know. Just say the word. I'm not ever having you do anything you don't want to on my account. Not here, not like this. I'm a lot of things, angel, but I'm not that sort of demon."

Aziraphale smiled shyly and shook his head, "I know you too well to even suspect otherwise, though I appreciate your taking the time to say it. I'm fine, really. I'm sorry…I want this, truly, I don't quite know what's the matter with me. I think I'm a bit…out of my depth."

Crowley smiled back and leaned in, whispered into his ear, "Then hold tight to me, angel. I won't ever let you drown, I swear it."

His voice was soft and gentle and Aziraphale relaxed, as much as he was going to. Crowley kissed his way down the angel's body, tantalizingly slow, relishing each time his lips touched flesh. Aziraphale gasped and whimpered, his hand tracing tentatively across Crowley's back. As the demon inched toward his stomach, he glanced downward and noticed a sizable tent in the angel's trousers. He grinned up at Aziraphale.

"When exactly did you-?"

Aziraphale blushed crimson, "Oh! Er…a few weeks ago, actually. Thought I might give it a whirl, thought…something told me perhaps something like this might…present itself. Eventually. Given enough time. Thought I'd better be prepared to er…show up, as it were."

"Huh. Have you given it much of a test drive, then?"

"Erm, not exactly? At one point I tried to, ah…but that didn't…well let's just say I'm not quite sure what to expect."

Crowley chuckled, "Well then, this should certainly be interesting if nothing else. Let's see if I can manage to keep from triggering a finale in under a minute."

He returned to the important task of kissing every exposed inch of the angel's skin. He brushed a hand up his inner thigh, careful not to veer too close to center - Aziraphale wanted slow, he'd get slow. His own erection, however, was beginning to press uncomfortably against the zipper of his jeans, and he moved to adjust himself. When he pulled back, Aziraphale watched him a moment, then sat up to meet him and kissed him. He trailed a hand down Crowley's torso and lingered at his waistband. Then Crowley gasped in surprise as, bold as anything, Aziraphale unbuttoned his jeans and eased the zipper down. Crowley moaned into his mouth as Aziraphale traced a cautious finger down the shaft of his cock.2

"Is…is this how it's done?" Aziraphale whispered tentatively, and Crowley nodded violently.

"That certainly works," he gasped, "Not many rules here. More of a 'do what you feel' sort of thing."

He shoved his jeans down to his thighs, his cock sprung free, and Aziraphale took careful hold of it, his face filled with a laughable combination of fascination, wonder, horror, confusion and raw desire. Crowley pulled away long enough to take his jeans off properly and lay beside him. Aziraphale propped himself on one elbow to look Crowley over.

"You are… _stunning_ ," he said at last, and Crowley grinned at him.

"I know."

Aziraphale smirked, "And so humble."

"The humblest, by far. But I fear I've interrupted you. By all means…"

"Hmm? Oh! Of course…"

Aziraphale reached for Crowley's cock again, with less hesitation this time. Crowley placed a hand over his and guided him, showing him a good pressure and pace to use.

"That's right. Ooh, that's quite good. You'll get the hang of it in no time."

After a time, Crowley let him take over and lay back, closing his eyes.

"Yesssss, just like that, angel. Very good."

Crowley's breath quickened, and Aziraphale's quickened alongside, his stroking pace increasing. The demon's cock began to leak steadily, and Aziraphale brushed a thumb over the tip, fascinated. Crowley's eyes popped back open and he practically howled.

"Oooooh, _fuck_!"

Aziraphale pulled back as if he'd been burned, "Oh! Terribly sorry, have I hurt you?"

Crowley laughed before taking Aziraphale's hand and guiding it back to his now twitching cock.

"Quite the opposite, just…be careful, we're dealing with a sensitive organ, here. Do that a few more times, I'll have finished before we've really started!"

"Sorry," Aziraphale said, embarrassed. He returned to his original pace. It wasn't long, however, before Crowley was moaning aloud. He watched Aziraphale through a lust-filled haze.

"Fuck, angel," a bit of a helpless whine tinged his voice, "You're going to make me come."

An unfamiliar expression passed over Aziraphale's face, a sort-of aggressive determination lit his eyes, and he increased pace again. His breath increased alongside Crowley, who'd begun bucking his hips rhythmically.

"Oh fuck, _fuck_ that's so fucking good, you're a fucking _natural_ , keep going. Don't stop, _fuck_ , oooh fuck, don't stop, don't stop, don't- aahh!"

Aziraphale quite purposefully brushed his thumb over the tip again and this time, Crowley absolutely howled. Aziraphale watched, fascinated, as Crowley's orgasm overtook him. He kept hold of his pulsating cock, moaned slightly at the feeling of it against his palm, of the heat pouring over his fingers. Crowley's eyes were squeezed shut, his face flushed, completely lost in ecstasy. There were no words for it other than…

"Beautiful," Aziraphale said, reverent and reflexive, and Crowley started to laugh. He kept laughing as he came down from his high, opened his eyes. He stroked Aziraphale's cheek and laughed anew when he saw indignation on the angel's face.

"Give us a smile, angel, I'm not laughing at you. It happens sometimes, somewhat involuntary really, the endorphin rush is quite something. Besides, this sort of thing's no fun without a bit of joy."

Aziraphale brightened immediately, "Now there's a word I never expected to hear you use as a positive!"

"Well, I never expected you to give me the best handjob I've had in a century, but here we are."

Crowley grinned wide and Aziraphale blushed anew, withdrawing his hand rather sheepishly. He willed his hand clean as Crowley feather-traced his fingers across chest, his grin shifting from mischievous to devious.

"Your turn."

"Oh! Yes, well I suppose…er. What should I, erm-"

"Shhhh, relax. Don't overthink it. Hold tight to me, remember?"

He pushed him gently back onto the bed and kissed him thoroughly, one hand clung tightly to one of the angel's as the other slowly traced up and down his side. The tracing hand travelled a bit lower each time until it reached his waistband. Aziraphale did not protest. His hand dipped below it for just a moment, and Aziraphale gave a little gasp at the gesture, but stayed put. Crowley ran a finger along his stomach just under his trousers, and Aziraphale moaned a bit, then giggled.

"Tickles!"

Crowley laughed along and added a bit more pressure to alleviate the sensitivity. He reached the elastic of the angel's underwear and slid his fingers underneath it. His wrist brushed a bit of cock quite by accident, and Aziraphale gasped hard and jumped a foot.

"OH goodness!"

Crowley laughed again and Aziraphale tried to give him a dirty look, but he was only swept up in Crowley's laughter instead.

"This is ridiculous!"

"Oh, it's nothing we can't manage. We just need to get you used to a few new sensations. Here, off with the trousers, then, I'll take the direct route."

He watched as Aziraphale stood and removed his trousers, looking a bit concerned at simply heaping them on the ground. Then Crowley leaned forward and tugged at the waistband of his underpants, raising an eyebrow at him. He took a deep breath and removed them. He stood self-consciously for a few moments as Crowley sat up and took in the sight of him, his face frozen in awe. He stood, unable to tear his eyes away. Aziraphale wasn't sure how to react, his face cycling between embarrassment, excitement, love, fear…a bit of everything, really. Crowley pulled him close, the skin-to-skin contact felt glorious and warm and alive. He wrapped a hand around the back of Aziraphale's neck and leaned in.

"I have never seen anything more utterly perfect since the Dawn of Creation."

There was no mockery in those words, no hint of irony, only genuine wonder and adoration. He shook as he said it, his hands as well as his voice. For a moment, Aziraphale was sure that he was going to see Crowley cry.

Then their mouths met, and Crowley pulled him back onto the bed, and reverence was replaced with unbridled passion. After a bit of adjusting position, and a great deal of kissing, they ended up on their sides, Crowley reaching for Aziraphale's cock with one hand, drawing him closer with the other. He caressed it gently as he cradled the angel close to him, pulling his head to his chest.

"Ohhhh," Aziraphale moaned gently, and Crowley smiled.

"Does that feel good, angel?" he whispered.

Aziraphale nodded and managed a soft, "Yes," between whimpers.

"Good. That's good."

Crowley stroked his cock with slow, even purpose. Aziraphale shook a moment, then every muscle in his body seemed to relax at once. He groaned.

"There now," the demon said, that same firm, gentle whisper, a tone that sent shock-waves through the angel's very core, "That's better, isn't it?"

Aziraphale's only response was a whine of pleasure. He clutched at Crowley, burrowing into his shoulder, seemingly trying to get as close as physically possible.

"Oh! Oh my. Oh- I- I-"

"Shhh, shhh, I know. It's all right, angel. It's a bit overstimulating at first, but don't fight it, just ride it out. Don't think, just feel. Yesss, that's right. That's good, let yourself go, lose yourself in the feeling, it's all right, I'm right here. You can let go, I'll catch you, I'll always catch you, I'll never let you fall, not ever…"

Crowley's mantra of combined gentle reassurance and lustful encouragement was driving Aziraphale mad, in a very good way. His whines got louder, more frequent, more insistent. Crowley's cock was hardening again against his thigh and it was a novel, and arousing, sensation. His own cock pulsed in response, and Crowley's smile grew wider. He increased his speed, just a bit.

"Oh! Oh, Crowley I- I think-"

"You going to come, angel?"

He nodded, "Mm-hmm."

"Good, that's good, let it happen. Don't try to force it, just relax and breathe and it'll happen on its own. Can you come for me, angel? It's all right, you can let go, come for me."

Aziraphale breathed out several sharp moans that culminated in a prolonged cry as he spasmed, pleasure washing over him in pulsing waves. Through it all Crowley continued to soothe him, holding him tightly, kissing his forehead. Aziraphale could barely process any words, his body wracked with new, overwhelming sensations, but the sound was a gentle cocoon, cradling him in safety and love.

"There we go," Crowley cooed as Aziraphale's orgasm finally ebbed, "There we go, angel. You see? It's all right, you're all right."

They held each other in comfortable silence for a long while, catching their breaths, basking in the afterglow. Aziraphale stirred, lifted his head to kiss Crowley tenderly, lazily. They smiled at each other.

"So," Crowley said, smirking, "How was that, then?"

"That…well I can certainly see why the vast majority of their art revolves around it, I can say that."

"…Think you might want to do it again?"

"Y-es. Yes, I think I'd like that."

Crowley waggled his eyebrows at him, "How about right now?"

Aziraphale laughed, "I er…I think that can be arranged. Don't think I've got any particularly pressing appointments this evening."

"Sure you do," Crowley said, rolling atop him, "My mouth's due to be pressing against your cock in about five minutes."

"Ooh, language! Leave it to a demon to turn something so incredibly lovely into something so basely vulgar."

Crowley shrugged, "Oh, it's a bit of both, really. Besides, I think you'll enjoy a bit of dirty talk, once you get used to it. Adds a certain…spice."

"Hmm, we'll see about that."

Crowley kissed him, and Aziraphale kissed back, and it was easy, and comfortable, and already becoming quite familiar. Soon enough, both their mouths were far too occupied to accommodate any more argument - for the moment, anyway.

* * *

1\. Crowley often had imagined conversations with the Aziraphale in his head whenever he found himself getting a bit bored: in the shower, stuck in traffic, queueing for moderately long periods, waiting for another demon to stop talking, the usual. Head-Aziraphale was significantly more deferential, self-effacing, apologetic, complimentary, and eager to snog at a moment's notice than the real one. He still preferred the real one, of course, but Head-Aziraphale was certainly a nice pick-me-up on a bad day. [Back]

2\. He wasn't wearing anything under the jeans. Of course he wasn't. Why miss an opportunity to subvert even the tiniest of polite expectations? Besides, he found most men's undergarments simply ghastly, and most of his jeans and leather trousers were far too tight for boxers to be anything but impediments to the impeccable line of his arse. [Back]


	4. Brakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein the new lovers have a good rest, a moderate freak-out, and an eventual plan devised from some Nice and Accurate advice.
> 
> (Chapter Rating: Teen)

They were well-satisfied after another couple hours' lovemaking1, and the rest of the night was calm and quiet. Aziraphale held Crowley close, their fingers interlaced, the demon's back pressed tightly against the angel's front. They slept: a pastime Aziraphale rarely indulged in, but very much wanted to experience with Crowley. Airaphale's dreams were sweet and pleasant, and quite boring, which was just the way he liked them. Having a nice cup of tea, reading a good book, looking out over a beautiful countryside, that sort of thing. Crowley chose not to dream. Crowley never dreamed if he could help it.2

Crowley roused from his quite restful, dreamless sleep a little before dawn. He lay still for a while after waking, reluctant to disturb the sheer bliss of lying in Aziraphale's arms. As he lay there, the angel's steady breath pulsing a comforting rhythm against his back, he tried to wrap his mind around the week's events, culminating in… _this_. After so long, _centuries_ of pining, waiting, yearning…here they were. Spooning in his bed. _Openly_ in love. Was this actually happening? It had all happened so…quickly. Carefully, so as not to wake him, he sat up to contemplate the angel sleeping naked in his bed. He smiled, still quite astonished that he was actually there. Watching Aziraphale sleep was fascinating. He still looked just as angelic, even when snoring (and drooling a bit). He could just make out the angel's features in the thin, predawn light, and each one was perfect.

 _Mine._ Crowley thought, as he often did when he looked at Aziraphale.

It was an ancient thought, once feral and possessive, greedy and jealous, the relic of a demonic mindset he'd outgrown ages ago. Over the years it had softened, detached itself from the evil instincts which birthed it. It meant many different things these days, and the night's events had revised the meaning yet again.

 _Now I'm his, too_ , he thought, half-attempting to convince himself, as he hadn't quite internalized it yet, _And it only took 6000 years and an actual apocalypse to bring him around._ He smirked at this thought, and bent to kiss his angel awake.

Aziraphale's eyes fluttered open, the picture of angelic beauty. He wasn't mussed or bleary (Crowley noticed, as he self-consciously smoothed down a cowlick). He was simply asleep, and then he was awake, and that was all. He smiled at Crowley, warm and familiar.

"Morning already?"

"Not quite. Thought I'd wake you anyway, you're much better company while conscious."

"Well, I suppose I'll take that as a compliment. Good morning, all the same."

"Good morning, indeed," Crowley said, and kissed him again. After a time, he lay back down and snuggled in, resting his head on Aziraphale's shoulder. Aziraphale kissed him on the forehead. He'd never been kissed on the forehead. He'd always thought it might feel a bit demeaning, but to his pleasant surprise, it felt wonderful.

"Do that again."

"What, this?" Aziraphale did it again. Crowley sighed loudly.

"Ahh, I could get used to that, it's quite nice, actually."

"...Last night was quite nice, as well."

"Mmm. It was a good deal more than nice, I'd say."

"You know," Aziraphale said, contemplative, "I think I understand why they don't allow angels to indulge in that sort of thing."

Crowley grinned, "A bit addictive, isn't it?"

"Well, certainly, but…the way it all feels it's…well, at the risk of bordering on blasphemy, it's the closest thing I've ever felt that rivals…well…"

"…the Ecstasy," Crowley finished softly, nodding a bit.

He couldn't remember the actual feeling of existing within God's presence, of basking directly in Her divine light. Losing the true knowledge of such things was a core aspect of Falling, after all. But try as he might to forget it, he remembered the way he _felt_ about the feeling. Once it left him, he knew he'd never feel anything like it again. And for most of his life, despite his frequent dalliances in various human physicality, that was entirely true. Drugs were a great way to spend a Saturday night (hell, they were a great way to spend every night), but there was something quite hollow about the euphoria they imposed. Sex was great fun, and a pleasurable hobby, and a wonderful way to meet new people, but it was never anything remotely close to _that_. Never before. Never in 6000 years. Never, until last night.

Sex with Aziraphale was different. _Everything_ with Aziraphale was different, but especially the sex. The joining, the touching, the kissing, even just the holding. Each act inherently held something deeply, primally...well, irritatingly, the only word that really fit was 'sacred'. It was something ephemeral, something ethereal, something…

"…ineffable."

"Hmm?"

"Oh…nothing. You got me thinking, that's all."

"Oh. Oh dear, I'm sorry if I reminded you of a…sore subject."

"Nah, don't worry about that, it's not a problem. I stopped feeling properly sad about it a long, long time ago."

"Oh, good. I'd hate to spoil even a moment of this. ...After all, it could be…no. No, never mind."

Crowley frowned, "What?"

Aziraphale gave a vaguely nervous shrug, "Forget I said anything, I don't want to spoil the mood."

Crowley sat up and frowned harder, "No, what?"

Anxiety overtook the angel's face as he sat up as well. He tried to smile, but it came out as much more of a grimace.

"…Who's to say we'll have another chance?"

"What? Of course we will. Why wouldn't we have another chance? What's that mean?"

"I mean...We know they'll come for us, for averting the war. We're _already_ traitors, we're _already_ expecting punishment, and we don't even _really_ know how bad that would have been on it's own. But after last night…imagine what they'll do to us now."

Crowley shook his head, "No. No, that's ridiculous, how could they know?"

"Oh, they'll know," Aziraphale's expression hardened. Crowley hated seeing such a grim expression on such an angelic face, "They've suspected us for years, of course, but now we've gone and given them _proof_."

"Angel, what are you on about?"

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed at needing to spell it out, "It's basic sexual-metaphysics, it's the whole _point_ of the thing! We have become two made one. You must have felt it, I know I certainly did. Our spirits have met, melded. We hold a bit of each other within ourselves now, there's no reversing that. They'll be able to sense it the moment they get anywhere near us."

Crowley's stomach dropped. He _had_ felt it, of course he had, he could always feel it to some extent, but it was typically a very minor, inconsequential thing. And yet, like every other part of the experience, it was a significantly different and _stronger_ feeling with Aziraphale than anything he'd ever experienced with a human. The implications of exactly what that meant hadn't quite caught up with him until now. Aziraphale took his hand and smiled sadly.

"I have lain with a demon, and you with an angel, and there are _clear_ consequences for that sort of thing…and I think you know what they are."

Crowley's frown deepened into a sneer. His eyes glinted with rage.

"If they _ever_ hurt you, if they ever so much as _touch_ you, Lucifer help me, I'll destroy them all. Every last one of them. Apocalypse nothing, they haven't _seen_ an apocalypse, the skies will _rain_ with their blood."

Aziraphale sighed, resigned. He stroked Crowley's cheek, lovingly, pityingly.

"Crowley, my dear, I love you to the ends of the earth and far beyond, and I'm certain you will do everything in your power to keep us from harm, as will I. But you can't _possibly_ be that naive," his tone was kind, but very firm. It seemed now that he'd stopped lying to himself, he wouldn't allow Crowley to either, "You said last night that they aren't 'our people' anymore and you were right about that. We're on our side, true enough, but they know it, and they _will_ use it against us. It doesn't even matter which side gets to us first. They'll take us _both_ , likely simultaneously, and likely soon. They will capture us, they will separate us, they will probably try to interrogate us, and then they will _execute_ us. You know the sorts of things they're capable of. I've been far too blind to it for far too long, but I'm not so blind as to think they won't jump at the chance to utterly _destroy_ the both of us for what we've done."

Crowley seethed, but Aziraphale knew it wasn't directed at him. He gave him a warm, if weak, smile, "I don't regret it in the slightest, and I wouldn't change a single second of it. Ending the war was the right thing to do, the _only_ thing to do. Loving you is…well, I don't think I had much of a choice in that, in the end. I think, perhaps, you were right back in Naples. I think, perhaps, I was always _meant_ to love you. But the ones devoted to the Great Plan don't give a solitary damn about the ineffable one, and _they're_ the ones in charge. They'll make examples of us all the same. I've accepted that, and honestly, I thought you had, too."

Being forced to stare directly at the truth like that might have been what he needed, but in the moment, it was the polar opposite of what he wanted. Crowley clung to his fury for a moment longer before his angry facade crumpled into panicked despair. He held Aziraphale's cheek as the angel held his, struggling against tears.

"No, no, I can't…I can't lose you. Not now, not when we've finally…We've got to run! Far away, far as we can, we-"

Aziraphale shook his head sadly.

"There isn't anywhere to go, my love. Not a single place in all the Cosmos they won't eventually find us."

Crowley began crying in earnest, his eyes lost and pleading, "…Alpha…Alpha Cen-"

"Shhh," Aziraphale cut him off with a gentle kiss, "No, love. Not even Alpha Centauri. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry it took me so long to come to my senses. I wish we had more time, I wish we hadn't been dealt such an awful hand. Please don't cry, my love, I can't bear it, here let me hold you."

Aziraphale gathered Crowley into his arms and held him tightly, stroking his hair, rocking him slightly. He whispered soothing reassurance into the demon's ear.

"Shhhh, there now, no tears, love. I'm here, I've got you. I love you so much, my darling, I don't want what could be our last hours together to be clouded by such melancholy. And besides, if you keep at it like that, you'll have me in tears before long."

These last few words came out quite choked, and in a moment, they were crying together. They clung to each other as though the other could be torn away at any moment.

"Oh my dear, _dear_ , Crowley," Aziraphale managed through sobs, "I'm so glad to have you here with me. At least we shall face our end together."

"…Face…" Crowley whispered, then sat up quite suddenly, "FACE!"

Aziraphale jumped, startled, "What?"

Crowley leapt to his feet, "Face, angel, FACE!" He pointed emphatically between his own and Aziraphale's, "Ugh, I'm an utter moron, I forgot all about it! What did Agnes' prophecy say? ' _Choose your faces wisely._ ' She meant it for us, she must have, why else would you have picked it up?"

He scrubbed at his eyes, then began casually pacing the room, doing his best to pretend the past few minutes hadn't happened at all. Aziraphale stared at him.

"Crowley, what…?" Understanding began to dawn and his shocked, puzzled frown began to fade, "…Oh!"

"Yes!" Crowley spun and pointed at him, "Exactly! Where are your trousers?"

"Erm," Aziraphale sniffled and looked around, "Over there, I think…"

Crowley tossed them to the angel and pulled his own jeans on.

"Get dressed, we'll need to look presentable if we're going to pull this off, and they could be coming 'round to nab us at any moment."

Aziraphale stood to look for his underpants, "How, exactly-"

"How do you think? You'll be me, I'll be you, they won't know which of us they've really got. They'll drag us to their bloody tribunals or whatever, and either we'll resist whatever horrible torture they've got planned for us, or we'll take them all down with us!"

"I'm not sure I'm quite prepared for that last bit…"

Crowley waved him off, tossing him his shirt and tie, "Last resort, not a problem, don't think about it too hard, you're good at improvising." He pulled his shirt over his head.

"I'm _terrible_ at improvising," Aziraphale countered, adjusting his tie, "Where's my waistcoat?"

"Ugh, why have you got so many _clothes_?"

Crowley cast about a bit, then dove under the bed. He came up on the other side, waistcoat in hand, and handed it to Aziraphale before jumping to his feet again.

Aziraphale grinned as he brushed it off and slipped it on, "All the more fun for you to remove them again, I suppose."

Crowley shot him a rueful look, "Oooh, don't tempt me, angel. We haven't the time. But if we pull _this_ off, you can bet I'll be pulling _them_ off, as often as possible."

They stood before each other, mostly dressed aside from coats and shoes, and a bit breathless from rushing about. Aziraphale frowned again.

"But they'll know it isn't really us. Why wouldn't they?"

"Why _would_ they? Think! You said it yourself, two made one, spirits melded and all that - we aren't purely _us_ anymore. They won't be able to get a clear reading on either of us, they'll be forced to go by sight, and we will be _wearing each other's faces_ when they do!"

"Yes…oh, yes! Of course! Crowley you've _done_ it! This could work!"

"This _will_ work! Give me your hands."

They joined hands, hopeful smiles gracing both of their faces. Crowley raised his eyebrows.

"Ready?"

"One last thing."

Aziraphale leaned in and kissed Crowley one more time, savoring every second. Their lips parted, but they touched foreheads a moment longer.

"Love you, angel," Crowley whispered, overflowing with relief and joy.

"Love you, demon," Aziraphale whispered back, eyes sparkling with mischief, "Now then. Let's fuck with their heads."

* * *

1\. Their unique circumstances being what they were, they very well could have gone on forever. But Crowley was actually the one to call it for the night, pointing out that it wouldn't do to ruin the novelty so soon. [Back]

2\. Due to a quirk of demonic biology, all of Crowley's dreams were, without exception and despite his best efforts, the worst sort of nightmares. The sort that haunt one's waking hours, make one never want to sleep again, wake up wanting to die, each perfectly tailored to him. It took some effort to sleep dreamlessly on purpose, especially at first, and for years he would actually wake up _tired_ , which shouldn't even have been possible. But he enjoyed sleeping too much to give it up, so he practiced, and eventually, it became a matter of course. Back when it was harder, every century or so he would try dreaming for a night, to see if he had any better control or if they had at least gotten milder. Each time he did, he regretted it for days. He decided to stop trying altogether around the 14th century, for obvious reasons. [Back]


	5. Smooth Sailing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Crowley considers the way things change, Aziraphale recovers something precious, some residents of Lower Tadfield make a brief (but important) appearance, and we get a glimpse into the happily ever after of an angel & a demon.
> 
> (Chapter Rating: Teen)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **To fans who have not read the book:** To properly appreciate the first scene of this chapter, it is vitally important to understand the reason Queen is so prominent in the series. The short version is, the book establishes early and often that any tape left in a car for more than a fortnight transforms into a Best of Queen album. This led to many situations in which Crowley would grab a tape, check the label and ensure it was _not_ a Best of Queen album, and then play it, only to immediately confirm that it was _absolutely_ a Best of Queen album, regardless of the label. It's safe to assume this also goes for CDs, which were very uncommon at the time the book was written, and so weren't mentioned. If you squint, this is alluded to in the series a couple of times.
> 
> (The long version is the rest of the book. It's a wonderful read, give it a go, you won't be disappointed.)

#### The South Downs, Somewhere in the Hills Between Brighton and Portsmouth, Three Years Later

Crowley urged the Bentley down the road at a leisurely (for him) pace, enjoying the epic, sweeping melody of Carl Orff's _Who Wants To Live Forever_ and occasionally humming along. He wasn't always fond of this song, to put it mildly. In years past, he would have skipped it in favor of something that _wouldn't_ potentially cause an emotional breakdown of monumental proportions at 180 mph. He hadn't heard more than a few bars of it in well over two decades. But as it began to play this time, something told him to give it a listen. It went much better than expected. He replayed it, and was relieved and pleased to discover he not only was unaffected by it, but he quite liked it now. Such a thing would have been entirely impossible only a few years prior.

The first time he'd ever happened upon the song, cursing his luck for its having replaced a merely months-old album by The Human League that had fallen under the driver's seat, he half-listened until the second verse, processed just what he was hearing, rewound it, listened intently through to the end, then had to pull over and take a few hours to have a solid existential crisis on the shoulder of the M4 because _unholy shit, that song just succinctly outlined his deepest thoughts about his own life, and about their life together/apart, and the way he often cursed this existence he'd had no choice but to endure, and then taunted him with some sickly-sweet, love-triumphs-over-all ending as the spiteful cherry atop the Fuck You, Anthony J. Crowley, In Particular cake, what the fuck?_

He didn't know a song could do that. It wasn't _fair_ that a song could do that! He'd been moved by music before, of course he had, but he rarely heard lyrics that provided him with anything more than a slightly deeper understanding of humanity's inner-workings. He _sympathized_ with many a lyric, but he almost never _empathized_ with one. As far as he was concerned, the most profound and insightful of human poetry was still a bit...shallow, really. Humans were, on the whole, so completely unable to grasp the bigger picture that their attempts at capturing universal truths sounded, to his ears, a bit like an ant attempting to wax philosophical about all of humanity after having seen one child's grubby little hand poking into its anthill.

The moment he experienced that song, he knew he had never been more wrong about _anything_. He actually felt rather ashamed at the extent of his hubris, his assumption that humans could never properly express the very experiences that were, by and large, unique to their kind. How incredibly unkind of him, how incredibly arrogant, even for him. How sorry he was, to be proven wrong in such a stark, personally painful way. He resolved to listen more closely to some of the songs Aziraphale had mentioned identifying with over the years. He would re-read the poetry the angel was so fond of extolling. He mentally apologized to Roberta Flack for dismissing _Killing Me Softly With His Song_ as maudlin and overly-dramatic until that moment: the first time in six millennia when a song eased deeply into the precise center of his very being, tore it open, and spat in it.

Once he had his wits about him, he stormed into the nearest record shop to find the track listings of actual Best of Queen albums, for fear someone, another demon perhaps, had somehow divined his secret heart and planted the song specifically to torture him. He eventually learned, from a somewhat intimidated and very confused clerk, that it was a real Queen song, albeit far too new to be included on a Best Of Queen album, having only been released a month prior1. For a _Highlander_ film, of all things. But its origins didn't matter to him, only its content, its precise recounting of his most pressing complaints about The Way Things Are.

Despite his anger and indignation, for about a year afterwards the song became somewhat of an obsession. Whenever he was feeling particularly depressed (which, by that point in his life, was usually), he would get blisteringly drunk and hurtle down deserted country roads in the middle of the night, replaying it endlessly, sing-sobbing along, narrowly avoiding collisions with wildlife and trees and road signs. He hid all of this from Aziraphale, of course. Had he any inkling, he would certainly have tried to stop him, which Crowley knew was yet more proof that he actually loved him very much, and the fact that he still stubbornly refused to acknowledge this depressed Crowley even further, which only led him to more drunken, late-night, self-pity drives.2

After a rather nasty run-in with a particularly large oak (which required him to manifest a new passenger-side door), he decided the song was probably best avoided altogether. He didn't ever listen to it on purpose after that. If he did happen upon it, innocuously playing out in the world somewhere, he would go extremely pale and attempt to get out of hearing range immediately. If he couldn't escape it, his mood would go exceedingly sour, often to the baffled chagrin of Aziraphale, who never made the connection and was entirely oblivious to the way the song had become a symbol for everything that was wrong with Crowley's life.

But it was different now. _Everything_ was different now. The lyrics once forced him to confront his ever-present sense of helplessness, trapped under Hell's thumb, waiting around for the end of a world he had grown to love, when all he wanted was tea at the Ritz with a best friend he fervently wished was a husband. But the past few years had transformed those same lyrics from hopeless to hopeful. Sentiments that had once only amplified his longing and resigned heartache now simply told the story of how he'd come to where he was. Where he once dismissed the ending as a cruel lie, a mockery of the realities of life, he now heard in it a confirmation of the love he now knew was very real and very possible, the life that he was now living.

It used to make him ruminate on the past. Right now, he was ruminating on how he would break it to Aziraphale that he'd left his Carmina Burana CD in the glove box for too long.

"Now," he muttered, "Where are you today, my lovely?"

He concentrated less on the music and more on his surroundings. He set out searching for a specific feeling, a sort of magnetic pull. He found it, and it was getting steadily stronger, so at least he was headed in the right direction. On instinct, Crowley turned right onto what he thought was probably the correct road, and crested a hill. He smiled as the roof of the cottage popped into view. He was glad he chose right the first time - yesterday he'd made two wrong turns and had to triangulate all over again.

Crowley didn't have difficulty finding the cottage because it was new (which it was, they'd only lived there a couple of years), or due to a poor memory or sense of direction. Crowley had difficulty finding the cottage because it was never in the same place for more than a few hours at a time.

* * *

#### Lower Tadfield, Two Years Earlier

The decision to move south had been an easy one. Not even a year after their successful escape from the clutches of Heaven and Hell, and they'd already begun to grow increasingly paranoid. They worried the Powers That Be hadn't been entirely convinced, or would discover their deception, or would decide they simply weren't finished with them after all. They began to suspect one or both of them was being followed. They weren't sure they should stay in the same place for much longer. And after a year, they still hadn't quite settled on who would move in with whom, and couldn't quite find a place they could both agree on. Eventually, the solution was obvious: change location and change house all at once.

They found a nice, normal, domestic little house in the countryside, not too far from or near to anything in-particular. It was small, cozy, but with two features they found entirely irresistible: a large garden with a greenhouse, and a library that took up a good quarter of the house. And that was that: Aziraphale packed up his books and sold the shop, Crowley had his plants shipped (inside a truck with a series of threats and menacing comments on loop) on ahead of them, and they left, no forwarding address.

When they set out, they stopped off in Lower Tadfield for a visit with Anathema and Newt. They were having a nice lunch and a chat at the kitchen table when Adam stopped by, quite by coincidence, to read Anathema's latest New Aquarian. Once the conversation turned to what the pair were doing, and where they were going, Adam became rather intrigued.

"But," he said, concerned, "Even if you move house now, won't they just find you again?"

Aziraphale shrugged, "Well, if or when they do, Heaven-forbid, we'll just move on again. We're rather used to moving 'round actually. London's probably the longest either of us have stayed in one place in…well, in centuries, wouldn't you say, my dear?"

"Yeah, it's not a ideal solution, granted, but it's not so bad," Crowley agreed, "Surely better than whatever might happen if they _did_ take an active interest in us again."

Adam frowned. He looked as though he were trying to work out a puzzle and make a decision all at once.

"You deserve to stay put if you want to, and it sounds like you want to," he said at last, decisively, "You need a place that's safe. Somewhere they wouldn't be able to find you."

"...I don't know that anywhere like that exists," Aziraphale said, somewhat sadly.

Adam shrugged, "Tadfield's like that for me. You said they wouldn't ever be able to hurt me if I stayed here. Why couldn't there be somewhere like that for you?"

"You _made_ Tadfield safe," Crowley said, "It's safe for you because it's your home. There isn't anywhere like that for us."

"But I could make it like that for you, too," Adam said, thoughtfully, "Don't see why not."

"What do you mean, Adam?" Anathema said.

"I mean, what if I made someplace that only they could get to, unless they wanted somebody else to get there, too?"

The adults all looked at each-other, perplexed. They had all assumed, perhaps incorrectly, that Adam had lost his supernatural power when he'd refused his (former) father.

"...You can do that?" Crowley said, after a long silence.

Adam shrugged, "Maybe. I can't do everything I used to, but I can still do lots of things if I try hard enough. And besides, you two can do plenty yourselves. I could make it, and then I could tell you how it works and you could keep it up."

"…Well," Aziraphale said cautiously, clearly deliberating on whether it was wise to call upon the apparent power of the reformed Antichrist, "We've already chosen a new house…I don't think-"

"Do you want to stay there?"

Crowley and Aziraphale looked at each other, unsure how to answer. They communicated several things through subtle expressions and gestures.

_Well do you?_

_Obviously, but is it really an option?_

_Apparently, but is it really a good idea?_

_Probably not. Has that ever stopped us before?_

_Meh, not really._

They looked back at Adam and said, "Yes," in unison.

Adam was pensive for a long time. He sat in an empty chair at the table and stared off in silence for several minutes. He muttered under his breath a bit, not as though he were casting any sort of spell, but more like he was working out a complicated word problem. The adults shared more confused, vaguely concerned glances. Then finally, Adam looked up at them and smiled.

"All right," he said, "It's done. It's not perfect. They'll be able to see you if you aren't at home, of course. But if you are, they won't, not ever. And they won't know anything's missing, either - there just won't be anything there to begin with. And even if they notice you coming or going, they won't be able to keep track of you, because it'll move 'round sometimes, so where you leave from won't be exactly where you went in."

"What, just like that?" Crowley said.

"Yep."

"But, we didn't even tell you where it was," Aziraphale said.

"Doesn't matter, it was in your hearts, easy to find it from there."

"…That's completely ingenious, Adam, how did you think of all that?" Anathema said, impressed.

Adam shrugged, "There's a lot of different magic houses and such in stories. I just put a few of them together."

"But it's still the same house?" Aziraphale asked, "The one we were headed to anyway?"

"Yep. I didn't have to change the house, I just had to put a sort of…erm…force-field around it, I guess? Or, actually, I suppose made it so it wasn't really there anymore, and then put up a force-field around where it was."

"What…does that mean?" Newt said, completely confused. Adam shrugged and didn't say anything at all.

"Adam…this is an awful lot to ask of you," Aziraphale began, but Adam shook his head.

"No it's not. I feel really, really bad about everything I did. And your bosses wanted you to fight in the war, but you didn't, and that's really good because war is awful, and they were trying to make me _want_ one but you stopped me. And you're so nice to me, you sent me fabulous birthday presents3 and you didn't even have to, and you let me call and ask you things whenever I want, and you tell me the truth! _Most_ grownups don't tell kids the truth, except for Anathema. You help me so much, I wanted to help you back, but I didn't know how. Does this help?"

"…I don't know that help is a strong enough word," Aziraphale said, "If everything works as intended, I think you may well have saved both our lives."

"Then we're even now," Adam said, and opened his (Anathema's) magazine.

"Hang on," Crowley said, "If it doesn't stay in place, how do _we_ find it?"

"You'll find it," Adam said confidently, not looking up from his reading, "It's yours."

* * *

#### A Random Location in The South Downs, Just Outside the Cottage, Two Years Later

Crowley sped up the drive, turned the wheel hard, drifted to a stop mere feet from the front door and hopped out, taking a good look around as he closed the door. The trees surrounding the clearing that held the house were tall and lovely, a wall of green between their sanctuary and the outside world. It was nearing twilight, and the summer air whispering through the trees was warm, but not unpleasantly so. Perhaps they'd have a drink in the garden later. Warm, inviting light shone through the kitchen window, and he smiled wider at the sight. He rushed through the front door and barrelled through the entryway. He caught himself on the kitchen doorframe and looked in, beaming.

Aziraphale hummed to himself as he puttered around the room. He'd just closed the oven door, and he was setting a manual egg timer shaped like a cartoonish, round red devil when he looked up to see the demon darkening his doorway. He returned Crowley's affectionate grin and set the timer down. Crowley sauntered in, grabbed Aziraphale, spun him, dipped him, and kissed him. Aziraphale yelped, and giggled, and kissed back.

"Hello angel," Crowley said, still dipping him, "Happy Anniversary."

They went on kissing as they righted themselves.

"Happy Anniversary, my dear," Aziraphale said once his mouth was free, "I got you a little something."

He pulled a small object out of his pocket and gave it to Crowley, who grinned even wider and held it up in front of him. He looked puzzled a moment.

"A cassette tape?"

"Not quite," Aziraphale said, eyes gleeful.

Crowley took a closer look. It was too heavy to be a cassette, and it wasn't quite the right shape. Then he found a small button along the side and pressed. A panel slid open and produced a pipe nozzle. Crowley laughed.

"Oooh, a cassette-shaped vape pen! _Fantastic_!"

"I figured it was only fitting that its true inventor should have one of the most popular, most reviled designs."

"You figured correctly. I love it, thank you, angel."

Crowley kissed him again, then produced something from behind his back and handed it over. Aziraphale looked it over and smiled. It was a very old, very well-cared-for copy of Wilde's _The Picture of Dorian Gray_. As he examined it more closely, the angel's face turned somber, then shocked, and he carefully looked inside the book's front cover. He stared for a long time, and when he finally looked back up at Crowley there were tears in his eyes.

"…Where," he managed, his voice an awed whisper, "…where did you find it?"

"Private collector, unlisted, North London. It was right under your nose the whole time. Though it took a lot of doing, both the finding and the acquisition. She _really_ didn't want to let it go. I managed, in the end, obviously."

Aziraphale gave him a disappointed look, "You didn't… _do_ anything to her, did you?"

Crowley looked scandalized, "What do you mean? I don't go around mugging people for sentimental literature, angel."

Aziraphale looked somewhat mollified, but still suspicious. He eyed Crowley, who maintained an innocent expression for a few moments before shrugging nonchalantly and looking away.

"I might have…convinced her she didn't really want it."

Aziraphale's expression didn't change. Crowley threw up his hands.

"All right! I _might_ have suggested that I was from INTERPOL and implied that, _perhaps_ , I was confiscating it as evidence of forgery, and that it was _possible_ she could be a suspect if she didn't hand it over willingly."

"Anthony J. Crowley!"

"What choice did I have? She wasn't going to give it up, I had to do _something_! It's not _really_ stealing, it's _yours_ anyway, I was only getting it _back_ for you!"

Aziraphale shook his head and tried to look upset at him for a moment longer. Then he looked back down at the book in his hands and smiled anew, an awestruck, sad smile. He traced a gentle finger over the written inscription, excellently preserved.

_My Dearest Aziraphale,_

_I fear even my own words cannot express my joy in hearing of your new shop. Though I know this tome may prove too controversial an offering for your customers, I hope you will accept at least this copy for your own shelf. Friendship such as ours is far too rare a thing to squander on the petty jealousies of polite society._

_With sincerest love,_

_Oscar_

The book had sat in a discreet corner of Aziraphale's shop, lovingly displayed but unadvertised, until the trial. Soon after, the shop was raided and several of his books, including that one, were confiscated as "indecent material". Aziraphale very narrowly avoided prison himself, and was forced to pay a small fine and register his catalog with the courts for five years. He never got any of the books back, and was almost certain they'd been burned. But around 1990, he heard rumors of a signed copy of _Dorian Gray_ floating around, addressed to someone never mentioned in any of Wilde's surviving letters. It was largely written off by the greater community as a collector's myth, but he'd been on the hunt for it ever since. And Crowley had tracked it down it for him.

A tear fell down Aziraphale's cheek and Crowley wiped it away. The angel looked up, his face a turmoil of joy, grief, love, nostalgia, wonder. Slowly, he closed the book and wrapped Crowley in an enormous hug.

"Thank you," he whispered, properly crying now, "Thank you, thank you. It was gone forever, and then _he_ was gone forever, and…"

Crowley held him tight, "I know, my love, I know. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, then. I knew how much he, that whole scene, meant to you. I only…I didn't want to make things worse for you. I didn't think you'd welcome me with open arms just then."

"…I'm not sure I would have, honestly," Aziraphale admitted, his tears beginning to dry, "I _was_ rather stupid then."

"Nah. You just didn't know how to handle yourself around someone as unbelievably sexy and intelligent as me."

Aziraphale pulled back, his arms hung around Crowley's neck.

"You are such an idiot," he said lovingly.

Crowley shrugged, "You married me."

"I did at that," Aziraphale said, and kissed him on the cheek. He sighed as he released Crowley, "Well, _my_ gift rather pales in comparison now, doesn't it?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Anything you give me is priceless beyond measure, angel."

Aziraphale gave him a wilting look and Crowley grinned, "Even that face."

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and went to find the book a place of honor in the library. When he came back, Crowley was lounging at the kitchen table, having a drink and investigating his vape.

"You're _not_ smoking that in the house," Aziraphale said, and Crowley looked innocent.

"Of course not, wouldn't dream of it!" He slid it back into his pocket, neglecting to mention the three puffs he'd already taken while the angel was occupied.

Aziraphale joined him at the table and sipped the wine Crowley had poured for him. He looked a little worried.

"What's wrong, angel?"

"Nothing only…I was thinking of asking you something, and now I'm second-guessing myself."

Crowley raised an eyebrow and his own face gained a bit of concern, "This isn't the kids conversation again, is it? I thought we agreed-" Aziraphale cut him off with a wave.

"No, no, nothing like that. I only…" he sighed again, wringing his hands a bit, his face flirting with indecision before settling on determination, "All right. I was wondering…if tomorrow we might…go…for a drive? In the countryside?" He asked the question as if it were spitting hot oil at him, flinching at every word by the end.

Crowley's expression shifted to astonishment. He processed what he heard a moment longer before responding.

"… _You_. Want to get into _my car_. And let me take you for a _joyride_. For a _whole day_? On _purpose_? Seriously?!"

Aziraphale nodded hesitantly, clearly regretting his final decision already.

Crowley stared at him, gobsmacked. He hadn't been this unprepared for something Aziraphale said since the bus ride home after Armageddon. A weight he hadn't even known was still there, the whisper of seven awful words, lifted finally and completely off his shoulders. Then he started to laugh. He laughed a long, long time, while Aziraphale's anxiety visibly increased.

"Now, I don't mean to say I'm keen on defying the laws of physics, here. I'd like to be able to actually see the scenery."

Crowley stood and scooped Aziraphale into his arms, "You'll see it fine, angel, I'll make sure of it. I won't even break a hundred. Well, one-twenty, tops."

Aziraphale started to protest, but Crowley covered his mouth with his own and stole every last objection along with his breath.4

* * *

1\. This wasn't particularly surprising, as the songs on metamorphosed Best of Queen albums never seemed to have much respect for the constraints of linear time. He first heard Under Pressure about a year and a half earlier than the rest of the world, and found himself rather concerned for Freddie Mercury's health upon noticing the way he sang _The Show Must Go On_ as though it were the most deeply, personally true thing he'd ever sung, when Crowley first heard it in 1981. [Back]

2\. When Crowley looked back, it was disturbingly obvious that he spent much of the mid-to-late 20th century in a fog of near-constant, desperate cries for help: self-medication, self-harm, risky behavior, he was a suicidal poster-child. It was rather a miracle he never ended up discorporated, or worse. In the end, it was his love for Aziraphale that kept him alive long enough to push through. Even in the moments when he felt sure the Universe would be at a net positive if he took a holy water bath, he knew it would devastate the angel, and he couldn't bear the thought of causing him even a moment's pain. [Back]

3\. Aziraphale gave him a complete set of the Narnia Chronicles, First Edition, signed by C.S. Lewis, with a note that he was welcome to read them, but that he should probably treat them kindly. He reads them quite a lot, but immediately restores them if they get at all scuffed, bent, or otherwise damaged in the slightest.

Crowley gave him a pair of heelies with flames on the side. The wheels will never break, and they are designed to grow with him. He wears them every single day. [Back]

4\. The egg timer startled them apart a few minutes later, and Aziraphale pulled away long enough to take the roast out of the oven before returning to more pressing matters. Due to the ensuing…distraction…rather than the grand meal Aziraphale had originally planned, their anniversary dinner was a cold roast, several hours later.

They didn't even care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had some specific inspiration for parts of this chapter.
> 
> The meditation on Crowley's depression was inspired in part by a [tumblr post by marveliciousfanace](https://marveliciousfanace.tumblr.com/post/185428048231/so-im-garbage-with-timelines-but-its-occurred) that points out that Crowley was showing warning signs of suicidal depression in the 19th & 20th centuries. I'd already been thinking about this myself, but this post really drove the idea home for me in a clear, succinct way, and I wanted to give them credit for that.
> 
> Similarly, I had my own headcanons surrounding Aziraphale's relationship to Oscar Wilde before reading Veul_McLannon's _amazing_ fic, [Though the world explode, these two survive](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18211871). But after reading it, it was impossible not to be influenced by it, and not only would I like to give them credit, I'd just really like everyone to read that fic because it is _stunning_.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so, I'm very, _very_ grateful for every _single_ comment I get on anything I write. And I do get a lot of them, and I know I’m really lucky for that, because not everybody does. 
> 
> And I get that not everyone likes commenting, and that is completely fine with me (thank you so, so, so much for reading!!!). Sometimes I don’t have the spoons or wherewithal or guts or time or am just not in the mood to comment on something I really loved. I totally get it.
> 
> But if you're on the fence about commenting for whatever reason, please consider the following:  
> 
> 
>   1. I 100% want to know what you think: your opinions, emojis, keysmashes and anger about giving you feels all give me life.
>   2. I obsessively reply to comments, so cut whatever number of comments this story has in half, because the other half is me gushingly thanking people.
>   3. Do you actually have a question about something? Do you want to "talk shop” about the story or the fandom in-general? Did reading it make you think of something else and you feel like sharing? These are also very good things to use the comment section for!
>   4. If you, like me, have ever had the thought, "Somebody's probably already said what I was going to" or "That person said what I was going to say", please know that whatever it was, I would love to hear it like, a million times, so please do say it again. :)
> 

> 
> Thank you, reader. I love you no matter whether you comment, kudos, or just stop by and give my story a chance. Seriously. I write for me, but I post for readers, so I literally couldn’t do it without you. <3


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